


Baby, It's Cold Outside

by BoxWineConfessions



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Foot Fetish, Foot Jobs, Foot Massage, Kotatsu, Kotatsu Sex, M/M, PWP, Somnophilia, bottom otabek, sleepy otabek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-03 10:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12746151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxWineConfessions/pseuds/BoxWineConfessions
Summary: A short series of otayuri pwp oneshots that involve fooling around underneath a kotatsu.Ch2: Otabek blinks, and Yuri becomes crystal clear in his field of vision. His mouth twists into a smirk, “Beka.” Yuri parts his Yukata, and Otabek watches as his hands drag down his chest, and disappear underneath the blanket. “You’re really hot when you’re sleepy.”





	1. Chapter 1

“Is there anything you’d like to do today?” Otabek looks up over the top of his laptop screen to Yuri. 

Yuri sits contentedly at the opposite end of the kotatsu. The long flowy sleeves of his shirt conceal most of his hand, but Otabek can see the faint mint green glow of Yuri’s Twitter page on the screen between his fingers. 

“Um,” Yuri’s phone clatters against the hard lacquer surface of the table. Yuri slumps down onto the table, pressing his chest against the surface and spreading his long arms across it. “Not exactly.” 

It’s silent between them for a moment, with little more than the soft clicks of Otabek’s wireless mouse to break it. At night the onsen roars to life, filled with patrons wanting dinner, a bath, or both. In the afternoon, a handful of faithful patrons, mostly Mrs. Katsuki’s retired friends, wander in for lunch. Although Otabek has only been here for a few days, he knows that the two hour or so hours before the lunch rush, but after their morning training session, are blissfully, if not eerily quiet. 

This morning, not even the low hum of the television interrupts. Victor and Yuuri took the train to Sapporo to celebrate Victor’s birthday yesterday. Mr. and Mrs. Katsuki passed them on the street on their way to the park to do tai-chi with their friends when they were headed back from the Ice Castle. Mari can be heard stomping around upstairs, but the main floor is theirs completely. 

From the corner of his eye, Otabek can see Yuri inching his hand toward his own. Otabek removes his left hand from the keyboard, and laces it with Yuri’s. 

“I just wanna sit here and be lazy.” Yuri says with a soft smile. “It’s warm,” he says rustling the kotatsu blankets. 

“Hm,” Otabek agrees. 

“Hungry though,” Yuri raises his head from the table and looks at him expectantly. 

The soft blush on Yuri’s face makes it too difficult to argue, “get something yourself.” Otabek rises from the kotatsu, and as soon as he extracts himself from the oasis of warmth, cold air bathes his body and washes away every bit of heat that he’d been holding. He doesn’t slip on the soft foam slippers that they wear around the onsen, opting instead to pad across the tatami floor in sock feet. 

“Not the onigiri,” Yuri calls as he walks into the kitchen. Mari makes dozens each morning for everyone to eat throughout the day as they get hungry. “Can you heat up some of the leftover gyoza from last night?” 

Dutifully, Otabek peeks into the refrigerator, and moves containers about until he can find the container with the dumplings. He grabs a handful of saran wrapped onigiri anyway, knowing that Yuri will probably want something else to eat. Otabek heats up the dumplings in the microwave, and turns on his heel to return to Yuri as soon as the microwave pings. 

“The oranges too,” Yuri adds. 

Otabek grabs the small wooden bowl off of the counter with oranges, and walks slowly back into the living area, his arms filled with various containers of food. He places everything on the counter alongside two pairs of chopsticks for the dumplings. 

Yuri simply grabs the container of gyoza and pinches at them with his fingers. “It’s nice just being together right?” Yuri’s words are sweet, but the way he says them are less than endearing. He speaks with his mouth full. The dumplings are piping hot, and Yuri exhales around the food trying to divert the steam away from his tongue and the roof of his mouth. 

“Yeah,” but none of the charm is lost on Otabek, who flat out refuses to be offput by Yuri’s messy, if not piggish mannerisms.  As Otabek watches him, he  feels the slow soft creep of heat to his cheeks, and reaches for some of the food in order to divert his smitten attention away from Yuri. He’s so used to concealing the full extent of his fondness and love for Yuri, whether it’s on the podium, on social media, or here in the onsen. The Katsuki’s are kind, but he doesn’t feel comfortable displaying affection for Yuri in front of them. 

Otabek digs his fingernail into the soft skin of the orange, and the acidic citrus scent of the fruit follows. Slowly, Otabek pushes his finger underneath the skin, and then tugs the at the skin in a long spiral shape until there’s nothing left but pith and fruit. 

“You want any of these,” Yuri shakes the container of dumplings at him. “They’re going fast.” 

“I’m fine.” Otabek pulls a quarter of the oranges away in a single piece formed of multiple wedges. He edges it across the table toward Yuri. 

“Thanks,” Yuri shoves a wedge into his mouth without swallowing the dumpling he’d been chewing on. 

“Of course,” Otabek responds simply. 

Yuri finishes the dumplings, eats two onigiri, and half of Otabek’s  orange. All of course between soft, disjointed conversations, interrupted frequently by bites of food, casual glances at their phones, and sips of warm tea. 

“God, those were so fucking good,” Yuri looks longingly at the empty container. 

“We could make more,” Otabek suggests. Yuri has cooked him almost every kind of Japanese dish imaginable over the past few days, and he cannot say that he’s eaten anything less than delicious while here. It is not often that they both have access to such a well stocked kitchen. His own cupboards at home are usually bare, and he knows that Lilia keeps only the healthiest of foods on hand at home for Yuri in St. Petersburg. 

“Later,” Yuri says around a wide yawn. He stretches his arms out, arches his back, and Otabek watches with rapt fascination as Yuri’s sweater creeps higher and higher up his stomach, and his fingers disappear inch by inch underneath his wide bell sleeves. “Otabek,” Yuri says when he’s finished with his yawn. “You’re really hot.”

Otabek doesn’t have an immediate response for Yuri, and so he spends several seconds sputtering in surprise and confusion. “What’s brought this on?” 

Yuri’s legs move underneath the table, spreading out and resting in Otabek’s lap. On instinct, Otabek’s hands move to rest on Yuri’s ankle, pulling the leg of his leggings up and resting his other hand on the soft threads of the purple fuzzy socks that Yuri likes to wear around the onsen. 

“Uhm,” a strand of hair falls into Yuri’s face, and Yuri tucks it behind his ear in one fluid motion. Yuri shifts his feet, resting the ball of his foot against Otabek’s crotch. Yuri’s smile is sweet like candy, his eyes shine with the promise of something far more satisfying than sweets. “No reason.” Yuri presses lightly against the seam of his sweatpants .”Do I need a reason to think my boyfriend is hot?” 

Otabek rubs his fingers across the arch of Yuri’s other foot. Otabek knows this game well. Otabek prides himself on giving a good massage, and Yuri would give anything, do anything, to have Otabek rub every last bit of soreness out of his body. 

Underneath the thick quilted edges of the Kotatsu, the heater runs on full blast because Yuri always runs cold. Yuri’s socks are thick, and and so his feet have become slightly damp with sweat. However, Otabek is undeterred. He presses the pad of his thumb into the arch of Yuri’s foot, and feels his fingertip glide across the synthetic threads of the sock. 

The sound that Yuri makes is divine. “Ah,” Yuri screws his eyes shut. 

“Too much?” Otabek watches Yuri’s face for any sign of discomfort, but there is none. His head is tilted back, as if he’s ready to be completely overcome by pleasure and have every last bit of tension rubbed out of his feet. 

“Fuck no,” Yuri responds. Yuri rolls his neck, and lets his hair fall about his face. Through a curtain of golden tresses, Yuri locks eyes with him and grins. “It’s good Beka,” Yuri slurs his words as if he’s drunk on a single flute of champagne.  

Otabek returns Yuri’s smile. He knows this feeling well, because whenever Yuri is feeling particularly indulgent, he will splay himself across Otabek’s body and rub his back until every last bit of tension is gone. Each dig of fingertips into skin burns and burns until it smolders into relief. 

Of course, these kinds of things always end with shirts rucked high, pants undone, and their cocks out. 

Otabek knows this game, and he knows how to win. Although, he isn’t sure if this is the right time or place. He hardly believes that lavishing attention on Yuri in any other way would end in anything else.  Although they should easily have another hour or so of quiet, the Katsukis could come in at any moment. 

Otabek repeats the motion, dragging the pads of both thumbs down the arch of Yuri’s foot. Every bit of visible tension melts from Yuri’s body, and of course his boyfriend returns the favor in kind. Pressure from Yuri’s foot increases, and then he shifts from one side to the other, kneading Otabek with the ball of his foot. Each artful motion of Yuri’s foot, from the ball, across the ridge near his toes, the side, and back again, sends faint whispers of pleasure through his cock. 

Just when it’s almost enough to grab his attention and pull him into half hardness, Yuri will dip his foot lower, and pinch at him lightly with his toes. 

Otabek warns Yuri with a stern look, and a momentary reprieve from his massage, “Yura stop.” 

Yuri simply takes the gap in contact as time to switch feet. “Do the other one Beka,” he orders while peeling another orange. The citrusy scent is thicker in the air now, intensified by dry heat of the kotatsu, and embedded into their skin and clothes. “Take my socks off too.” 

Otabek only partially listens. He switches feet, and peels back the sock on Yuri’s left foot. “You’re spoiled,” of course he says this while he’s alternating between soft circles and deep presses into the sole of his foot. Otabek savors each twitch of his mouth, and each gasp, and the way that his entire expression tenses and softens over, and over, and over again as he rubs.

“Psh,” Yuri’s closed eyes flutter open, and his slack jaw tightens into pursed pouty lips. “So the fuck are you.” 

Otabek doesn’t respond right away. In Yuri’s relaxed state he rubs his fingertips over all of the places he’s not supposed to touch. The callous on his pinky toe, and the scarred over place on the top of his middle toes.

“What if we get caught?” Yuri’s smile curls into a smirk barbed and dangerous around the edges. The expression is designed to play against Otabek’s tendency to feel anxious up until the very last moment, and then throw caution for the wind only because the fear of doing nothing at all outweighs the fear of consequence. 

Otabek makes a split second decision by baring down on Yuri’s foot, and dragging his thumbs from the ball of his foot to the heel. He fans the pads of his thumbs in opposite directions, and the sound that Yuri makes cannot be ignored. 

“We have plenty of cover,” Otabek responds.  The long blankets attached to the kotatsu act as a barrier preventing anyone from seeing underneath. He scooches forward, then backward, freeing his cock from underneath his sweats, but keeping them as high as possible on his body so not to expose himself. 

Yuri’s sock-clad foot is immediately on his half hard cock. The fibers tickle at him, and Otabek cannot decide if he wants to rut up into the soft fabric, or pull back. 

“Get hard for me Beka,” Yuri demands as he pulls the wedges from his orange apart, and puts one into his mouth. 

Otabek grips himself at the base of his cock and silently curses his boyfriend. Only Yuri can act bored and uninterested while he’s got Otabek on the cusp of losing control. Only Yuri can make something so strange and disgusting like eating during sex appealing. Yuri’s syrup thick, lust heavy gaze doesn’t break with Otabek’s for a moment as he presses an orange slice to his lips, takes it into his mouth, and laps the residual drops of juice away with his raspberry pink tongue. 

As the scene unfolds before him, Otabek grips his cock and gives himself several hard utilitarian tugs. With his other hand, he pulls the sock off of Yuri’s foot, leaving both bare. 

Upon having both socks gone, Yuri scoot forward underneath the Kotatsu. He finds Otabek’s cock, and the feeling of Yuri’s toes pulls a long stifled moan from the back of his throat. 

“You’re so easy Beka,” Yuri says as he works his feet up and down Otabek’s cock, doing his best to find a rhythm. The going is slow. Yuri grabs with his toes, and moves his feet out of synch. But the efforts aren’t in vain. Each brush of Yuri’s skin against his own sends full, unmuted electric jolts down his cock. Each motion is wild and unfettered in comparison to the way Yuri ground his foot against his clothed cock moments ago. 

“You’re the one who-ah,” Otabek’s hand flies to his mouth as he stifles a gasp. Yuri’s got the tip of his cock trapped between the arch of his feet. Otabek is wet with pre-cum and his cock slides easily between. 

“Yeah, Altin?” Yuri looks at him while he pulls a string of pith off of one of his slices. 

“Who’s letting me get some for a foot rub.” Of course, it’s difficult to keep up with Yuri when they’re like this. Whatever semblance of back and forth between them is irrefutably marked by the fact that Yuri started it when he pressed his feet into Otabek’s lap,  and Yuri will most certainly finish it. 

“It’s fine, you’re gonna blow me after this.” Yuri’s body, moves in time with his feet. His chest bumps against the Kotetsu, and it scoots loudly against the floor. Yuri’s discarded orange rests on the table. The feeling of soft skin against his cock is abruptly disrupted by the feeling of calluses, dry peeling skin, and then smoothed away again. 

Although the feeling of Yuri’s feet wrapped around him is looser than the feeling of his hands or his ass, and pales in comparison to the plush feeling of his mouth, this is addictive in it’s own way. Yuri blends the mundane into the taboo and risky. Otabek feels the impending orgasm build from his heavy sack to the tip of his cock. “Yura, I’m-Ah-ah,” 

“Hm?” Yuri interrupts. The only thing standing stock still and blocking Otabek from crashing into a delicious orgasm brought on by Yuri, is Yuri. He pinches the tip of Otabek’s cock with his foot once again, and smears the precum around with his big toe. “Saying something Beka?” 

Otabek smacks his fist onto the Kotetsu. It’s loud enough to make Yuri jump. “You’ll pay for this Plisetsky.” 

Yuri doesn’t miss a single beat. He pinches the tip of Otabek’s cock again, which feels strained to it’s limit, and must be dark red with frustration by now. 

Another moan is ripped out of Otabek like a bike tearing down a gravel road. “What’s the rush?” Yuri shifts, and he can tell that Yuri’s freeing his own cock from his leggings. Yuri pauses for a moment, catches his bottom lip between his teeth and closes his eyes as he indulges himself in rapid, greedy strokes. “Like I said, we’re not doing anything today.” 

The statement is rich, laughable even, coming from the world’s most impatient lover, Yuri Plisetsky. 

Without another word, Yuri takes Otabek between his feet. Yuri moves his feet in perfect time, up and down, and up and down his cock in tandem with the rough motions of his own hand on his cock. Despite the temporary loss of contact, the fire is rekindled within Otabek immediately. 

He can tell it’s the same for Yuri, who looks at him across the table with dreamy, half-lidded eyes. Yuri is done with teasing him, and they’ll both get to cum soon. 

There’s the creak of the staircase at the back of the house. Mari’s coming downstairs. 

“Fuck,” twin hisses from the corner of both of their mouths blend together into a single swear underneath their breath. 

“Yurio?” Mari’s voice calls from the back of the house. “Otabek?” 

“Hurry up!” Yuri hisses. 

“I’m trying!” 

“Have you seen my phone charger?” Mari calls. 

Yuri’s voice doesn’t even stutter, “It’s not in here.” His feet never stop moving. Yuri makes him feel like he’s on something like the candy colored tablets that he sees people pass in clubs, or like one too many sugar laden cocktails. Yuri’s an addiction, a compulsion that he never, ever wants to shake. Yuri’s feet move faster on his cock, and Otabek thrusts up into his pressed together feet. 

Yuri’s cock is concealed by the kotatsu, but he knows that Yuri’s grip on himself is vice tight. He knows that the tip of his cock disappears when Yuri tugs at his foreskin. He knows that Yuri’s sac draws up near his body when he’s close, and it looks like something out of an erotic film. 

The orgasm is torn out of him with a grunted, “Yur-ah.” Absent is the sudden deluge of pleasure and warmth. No, this was something born out of need from being too far gone to simply tuck himself back into his sweats and wait for his erection to go down, and not close enough to feel fully satisfied when he comes.  

He slides his fingers over Yuri’s feet, which are covered in warm tacky spurts of his come. Otabek watches across the kotatsu as Yuri closes his eyes, bites his lip, and comes with an equally stifled, “Beka.” 

They tuck themselves back into their sweats, smooth down the blankets on the kotatsu, and Otabek opens his laptop to a default newsite. Their attempt to look normal doesn’t come a moment too soon. Mari’s footsteps grow closer and louder, as she walks through the dining area and into the kitchen, “Must’ve left it back here.” 

“Oh my fucking god Otabek,” Yuri’s words waffle between giddy from the rush of almost getting caught, and pissed off at the entire situation. He lightly kicks Otabek underneath the table, no doubt trying to rub the cum off of his feet. “That was so fucking stupid.” 

“You started it.” Otabek deadpans while holding up both hands in exasperation. 

Yuri twists his hair through his fingers and pulls it into a bun using on of the hair ties he keeps on his wrist. He grabs another orange slice off of the table, and it isn’t difficult for Otabek to tell through all of these frantic gestures that Yuri is desperately trying to burn off nervous energy. “Finished it too,” he says with a cheeky grin. 

“I don’t know Plisetsky,” Otabek teases. “Didn’t you say you wanted a blowjob?” 


	2. Chapter 2

After their bath, Yuri wrapped him up tight in one of the free flowing onsen robes and tied him into it with a bow. Then, Otabek bent at the waist, grabbed his neatly folded pair of black briefs, and moved to put them on. Yuri’s voice cut in over the drip of water from the faucet, and over the thick steam in the bathing area, “don’t worry about it,” and bat the garment out of his hands.

At the time, Otabek thought nothing of it. Yuri had tied him up tightly and there was little risk that he’d expose himself.

Hours later, a fresh wave of concern washes over him, but he cannot quite string together the thoughts needed to express himself. Sleep tugs at him in every direction. Warmth rakes up his body from the heater rested near his toes. Heat caresses down his back and arms from the thick blanket draped across his chest. With his belly filled with katsudon, his body feels as sluggish as his mind.

Otabek can feel coal hot hands move underneath the blanket. He need not open his eyes to know whose hands bring such heat and such urgency with the simplest of touches. Yuri’s hands act as if they cup the heat from the kotetsu and amplify it ten fold on his skin. Otabek can feel deft hands undo the knot at his waist, and when skin meets skin, Otabek need not open his eyes to see the white hot intensity of Yuri’s need. It’s painted on the back of his eyelids and branded into his skin.

He need not look, but he so badly wishes to open his eyes and see Yuri looming over him with hungry need. Of course, this is easier said than done, as his body and mind are exhausted in the way that only comes from doing almost nothing and eating nearly everything. As such his eyes feel welded shut, and his mind too foggy to will them open.

His brain is foggy with sleep, but he’s fairly certain that they’re still in the Katsuki’s dining room. His brain is clouded with an ever growing need for Yuri’s body, and so it’s difficult for him to really care. Yuri’s touch feels like a divine mixture of fire and pleasure that he wants to chase through his dreams and into waking life for forever.

Yuri’s hands over his clothes are hot weighted iron, but the tips of his fingers against bare skin are a sharp icy contrast. Yuri circles his nipple with the tip of his finger, and then pinches softly. The sound of his own gasp spilling from his mouth, across the empty dining hall, and echoing in the alcove at the main entrance finally pulls him awake.

His vision is blurry upon first waking, and Yuri comes into view slowly with each heavy blink of his eyes. First, a mass of blonde, and bits of pale skin peeking out from underneath a black yukata. He blinks additional detail into view: Yuri’s gaze is sharp and concentrated, his lips are pursed, and his own yukata has been undone to reveal more skin. “Yura,” is barely a whisper on the edge of his lips.

Otabek blinks, and Yuri becomes crystal clear in his field of vision. His mouth twists into a smirk, “Beka.” Yuri parts his Yukata, and Otabek watches as his hands drag down his chest, and disappear underneath the blanket. “You’re really hot when you’re sleepy.”

Otabek closes his eyes for a moment, and simply lives in the sensation. Yuri’s fingertips warm against his skin. Fingers rest at the base of his cock, but the delicious sensation of Yuri’s hand tightening around him never comes. Instead, there is rustling beside him, and Yuri moving on top of him. “Hey wake up.”

Otabek’s eyes snap open, and all that he can see in the faint light of the Katsuki’s dining room are Yuri’s eyes blown wide with need. Yuri settles between his thighs, and fabric rustles, offering the promise of something hotter than fingertips against skin.

Yuri isn’t wearing underwear either. Otabek can feel every inch of Yuri pressed up against his own cock. No matter how many times they rut against each other, Otabek never fails to be awestruck by the feeling of hard yet silken soft skin against his cock. Having Yuri pressed against him evaporates any shred of uncertainty that settled into his chest, fans the flame, and makes him want whatever Yuri is willing to give him next.

Yuri closes his eyes, and on cue Otabek does the same. Yuri slots his mouth over Otabek’s and presses his tongue inside. His first instinct is to kiss back, but Yuri is so confident with wide swipes of his tongue and soft pressure on his teeth. Yuri drinks his fill of him, and when they part Otabek does not need to be prompted to open his eyes once again. Yuri’s body jolts him awake faster than any cup of coffee or tea.

Yuri rubs his cock against Otabek’s. All he can do is ride the short disjointed jolts of pleasure, bucking against Yuri in mistimed movements. Each motion of his hips and each roll of Yuri’s hips pulls him closer and closer to being fully awake. Cool air from where the blanket has been pushed away bites at his chest and the tip of his nose.

With each motion, it becomes more and more difficult to stifle the throaty gasps that Yuri wrings out of him with just the faintest motion of his hips. Their movements jostle the kotatsu, and the table scratches across the tatami floor. Otabek tilts his head upward, opens his mouth to speak, but the words don’t come out right away. His breath is stolen away by another one of Yuri’s urgent, sloppy kisses.

Yuri breaks the kiss only to latch onto his neck.

“Yura, shouldn’t we?” Their room is just down the hall.

“Everyone’s sleeping,” Yuri mumbles into his collar bone. “Promise. Plus,” Yuri extracts one of his hands from underneath the thick quilt. Cold air creeps into the space between their bodies, and Otabek shivers against Yuri’s bare chest. “‘Cold out there Beka.” Yuri’s words slur together viscous and sticky, as if Yuri’s brain is just as foggy as his own.

Yuri shifts, and Otabek watches his hands disappear underneath the blanket. Yuri pulls back slightly, and the soft velvet pressure of Yuri’s cock against his is gone.

Otabek knows that he should not whine in protest. Voices carry in places where the walls are paper thin, and if they aren’t careful they’ll be caught.

Yuri makes up for the loss of contact immediately. His fingertips drift to his hole, circles the rim, and presses against him. “You’re still open from earlier,” and in the faint light he can see Yuri’s mouth twist into a grin.

After their bath, but before dinner, Yuri pushed him down onto the futon mattresses on the floor and used those beautiful long fingers on him until he came without Yuri so much as touching his cock. Yuri isn’t greedy, but only Yuri could take such a selfless gesture, whip it back around, and torment him for it. Overstimulated and fucked out, Yuri pushed into him anyway. Then, Yuri fucked him through the feeling of over stimulation so that there was nothing left other than more pleasure.

Otabek can feel his cock twitch against his stomach from just the memory and the small bit of contact alone.

With his free hand, Yuri reaches for the small drawstring bag that he always carries around the onsen. He can hear his nails clack against the tatami floor, and he can feel Yuri clamor for it in the darkness. HIs inabiity to just quite reach means that Yuri’s finger gets pressed further inside.

Otabek groans at the contact.

Yuri pulls his hand back triumphant from the draw string bag, and shows Otabek a small bottle of lube. “Lemme do you,” Yuri poses the statement as if Otabek has yet to make up his mind. In reality it’s the exact opposite. Otabek was going to let Yuri have him any way that he wanted the very moment that Yuri invaded his dreams.

“Okay,” Otabek breathes.

Yuri tugs at the flip cap on the lube with his teeth. Fumbling with the bottle, Yuri refuses to remove his finger from inside of Otabek. There’s the sound of the bottle squelching, and then the cold feeling of lube being applied to his hole.

“Fuck,” Yuri grouses.

“Too much?”

“Yeah,” Yuri says through gritted teeth. Yuri sits up and bumps the kotatsu table. Otabek can feel him coat his own cock with the excess lubricant. Then, Yuri leans down onto Otabek, so that Otabek is the one supporting most of Yuri’s weight. Yuri latches onto his collar bones, his neck, his chest, and anywhere that he can reach with his finger buried deep inside. Yuri sinks another finger inside of him, and when Otabek screws his eyes shut he sees stars.

Yuri twists his fingers inside of Otabek. Otabek knows with intimate detail how well Yuri can reach his prostate with just his long fingers, and wring out unknown pleasures from him with just the tap and the curl of his fingertips. Because of this intimate knowledge, it’s criminally unfair how Yuri’s movements seem to graze near, but miss every single time. “Yura,” stranger still is how Yuri, who is always burdened by an immense urgency, toys with him so. “Yura,” he rarely does this, opting instead to move quickly and push in as soon as Otabek’s body is ready. “Yura,” he repeats again. For as addictive as the push and drag of Yuri’s finger is, for as wonderful as the feeling of his mouth against his collarbone is, how can Yuri be unaware that he’s ready now?

“Shhh.” Yuri shifts again so that he’s covering Otabek’s mouth with his free hand. “You’ll wake everyone if you don’t shut up.”

Otabek means to tell Yuri that it’s all his doing, but the sound comes off as a muffled whine through closed fingers against his lips.

Yuri doesn’t relent, nor does he add another finger. He simply lets his fingers slide in and out of Otabek with only the soft rustle of fabric, and the squelch of lube drenched skin between them.

In this liminal space, somewhere between too turned on to feel tired, and too tired to understand the full extent of what Yuri has done to his body, Otabek becomes acutely aware of the heat once again. The dry heat of the heater underneath the table intermingles with the damp press of skin against skin. It makes everything iron hot and sticky to the touch. Otabek can feel the perspiration build in the bend of his knee, and the place where his skin touches his undone yukata, and all around where Yuri touches. Arousal tugs at him from his toes, to the tips of his fingers, which he threads into Yuri’s hair. Something like fear, albeit much more benign, tugs at his stomach, and makes him wonder if Yuri intends to repeat what he did to Otabek earlier. He doesn’t want to cum and then be fucked through it. Yuri and himself together would be ideal. However, he’s powerless to do anything about it other than rock his hips into Yuri’s touch.

Yuri pulls out his index finger first, and then his middle. Otabek shudders at the loss of contact even though he knows that this is what he wants more than anything else. Yuri shifts again. A draft of cold air barges into the kotatsu and chills them both to the bone. Luckily, Yuri is all fire and ember as he pushes Otabek onto his stomach, “turn over.”

Otabek complies, and Yuri fucks into him with one fluid motion.

“Yura,” and as soon as Yuri’s name is on his mouth, his own hand flies to his mouth. He bites into the dark black yukata fabric, and does his best to keep Yuri’s name off of his lips.

“How the fuck,” Yuri’s voice is barely a hiss over the slap of Yuri’s skin against his own. “Are you still so fucking tight?”

Otabek doesn’t have an answer for Yuri. All he can do is reify Yuri’s point by clenching down on him. Yuri twitches inside of him in silent response, and for a moment the thick heated air is tangible with their mutual need for more.

“Seriously, Beka, fuck.” Yuri punctuates his disorganized statement by pushing in deeper, pulling almost all the way out, and plunging back in slowly.

“You feel good too,” Otabek stammers for a lack of anything better or more coherent to say.   
Yuri pushes himself in deeper, rutting against Otabek’s prostate, but never pulling out.

Yuri brushes his cheek with the pad of his thumb, “yeah,” and Otabek can hear the way his mouth curls into smile. This one lacks any form of bite, or smirk. It’s simply Yura open and exposed. “That’s right.”

The rhythm that builds between them is slow, much like the rest of the pace for the evening. Despite Yuri’s slow shallow thrusts, the passion builds quickly. Otabek feels as if he’s brought the the precipice of an orgasm almost immediately, but Yuri holds him there indefinitely.

“You like taking my cock, Beka?” Yuri’s eyes flutter shut just as he drags his cock against Otabek’s prostate.

“Yes,” Otabek responds as soon as Yuri’s eyes open once more.

“You want me to cum inside?”

There’s no real question. Otabek loves it whenever Yuri is willing to indulge him in this. In his current state, he doesn’t even question the possibility of a mess, or a long walk of shame back to their bedroom. Otabek doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, he tilts his head back, and captures Yuri’s lips in an open mouthed kiss that is more tongue and teeth than anything else.

The feeling of heat is replaced with the feeling of wet. Yuri’s tongue in his mouth and their sweaty bodies sliding against one another under the thick quilt edge out the impossible heat from the kotatsu. The cool night air contrasts with it, and dapples their skin with gooseflesh wherever it can reach and wherever it can torment. The sensation of wet is edged out by sticky. Yuri twitches, and Yuri pulses, and Yuri ruts into him as if he were a man possessed.

Yuri slumps against him, and in his post orgasm haze nudges Otabek onto his side, and reaches for his long neglected cock. Although Yuri fucked him with a slowness and a patience that he was not used to, Yuri doesn’t vary how he touches Otabek’s cock tonight. He licks the palm of his hand, takes his cock into his palm, and works him with firm, rigorous flicks of the wrist that make him feel like his heart is going to stop beating at any moment.

Otabek can feel warms spurts of cum spill across his stomach, and his chest.

Yuri slumps on top of him for a moment because he is just as boneless and breathless as Otabek is. He pulls out slowly, and Otabek cannot stifle the whimper at the loss of contact. Fabric rustles around him, and then Yuri’s tying him back into his Yukata with swift deft hands.

“Hey,” Yuri touches the side of his face lightly. “Don’t go back to sleep asshole.” The soft touch on the side of his cheek is countered by a jab at his collarbone. “Don’t go to sleep with cum in your ass.”

Otabek’s eyes flutter open to the sight of Yuri once again staring right past him.   
“That’s so fucking gross.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I dedicate this fic to nyan mode


End file.
